


Nightmares

by Razberrypuck



Category: Dream SMP (Video Blogging RPF), Dream SMP - Fandom, Dream SMP Roleplay
Genre: Angst, Canonical Character Death, Mild Gore, Past Character Death
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-11
Updated: 2021-02-11
Packaged: 2021-03-17 19:15:10
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,121
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29355555
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Razberrypuck/pseuds/Razberrypuck
Summary: Phil's mind was racing, but he couldn't keep up with a single thought- all he could focus on was Wilbur, his son, his boy- then, like a switch was flipped, it was empty. Not peaceful. Just empty. One thought pushed itself to the front of Phil's mind.Haven't I done this before?ORPhil has a nightmare about Wilbur's death.
Relationships: Wilbur Soot & Phil Watson
Comments: 3
Kudos: 20





	Nightmares

The first thing Phil felt was the cold handle of a sword in his hand. Everything was blurry. He couldn't think straight. He couldn't think at all. He screwed his eyes shut, as if he didn't want to look at the sight in front of him- but he didn't know what it was he didn't want to see.

The next thing he felt was a warm liquid dripping from the blade, down the handle, and onto his hand. It didn't take long for the substance to get there. The blade was buried deep in the being on the other end of it. Phil didn't want to look.

He forced his eyes open anyway, barely able to see through his tears.

_Wilbur._

Phil's heart dropped to his stomach. Wilbur wore a weak smile, a few tears escaping him. He couldn't get much more out. The sword moved in Phil's grip. Wilbur wouldn't be able to stand for much longer.

The next thing he felt was his son's weak body slump into his own. He felt the warm substance, dark and red, seeping into his own clothes, just as it had Wilbur's. He knelt down, carefully helping Wilbur onto the ground with him. His face was buried in Phil's shoulder as he weakly wrapped his arms around his father. A beautiful diamond sword, coated in red, was still plunged into his chest, sticking out of his back. He still wore that teary-eyed smile. It was at his own request, after all.

Phil's mind was racing, but he couldn't keep up with a single thought- all he could focus on was Wilbur, his son, _his boy_ \- then, like a switch was flipped, it was empty. Not peaceful. Just empty. One thought managed to push itself to the front of Phil's mind.  
_Haven't I done this before?_

Wilbur shifted in Phil's arms. He was trying to lay down. They could hear the edge of the blade scrape against the stone beneath them. Phil was too scared to take it out. He didn't want his son to hurt more. Maybe if he didn't move it, he could save Wilbur this time. It was only when Wilbur tried to reach for the handle that Phil stood up, and pulled the sword from his son's chest.

He knew what was going to happen next.

He knew there wouldn't be time.

He didn't want Wilbur to suffer.

The substance that coated the near entirety of the sword had soaked into Wilbur's previously white sweater, and the back of his coat. A puddle was steadily forming under his back. Phil's robes were stained. He could feel it dripping from his destroyed wing, torn to shreds while shielding the two from the explosion. He hadn't been able to process his own injuries until now. It hurt.

He couldn't imagine what Wilbur was feeling.

Before he could look to the next disaster, the storm of Withers and chaos that was coming, Wilbur took in a deep, shaky breath. Phil felt tears running down his face before he realized he was crying. Again. Had he even stopped? He didn't know.

"Phil," His son's voice was soft and broken, as if at any moment he would crumble.

"Dad," Wilbur croaked, and it was enough to knock the wind out of Phil. The sword slipped from his grip and clattered to the ground.

"Are you proud of me, dad?" Wilbur smiled, and all Phil could see was his little boy. He couldn't speak.

"You probably aren't. It's okay, though. I wouldn't be either." All Phil wanted to do was tell him he was wrong, tell him he's always been proud of him, tell him he's sorry, that he should've been there, that he should've been a better father-

"But I don't regret it. Not a single thing." Wilbur gave a pained smile. "Isn't that funny?" Phil couldn't respond. He was trying so hard to, but he just couldn't. Not over his tears, anyway.

Wilbur laughed.

"Why the tears, Phil?" He would ask, as if he didn't already know. "I know you like to blame yourself for these things, Phil, but this isn't your fault. You're just the poor bastard that walked in!" He sounded amused behind the pain in his voice. It did anything but calm Phil.

How was he still talking? Why did he even start talking? The last thing Wilbur told him was that Techno was a traitor, Phil remembered that clearly. So why-  
"I wanted this, Phil. I begged you to do this. You aren't to blame here," Wilbur gently shook his head. "Not really." All Phil wanted was for Wilbur to stop talking. He couldn't handle this. Of course it was his fault, he was the one who did it, even if Wilbur told him to.

"You did me a favor, Philza Minecraft. You did everyone a favor." Wilbur was getting weaker. Phil could hear it in his voice. See the light fading from his eyes. Wilbur smiled one last time. A soft, thankful smile.

_"You're a hero, dad."_

The first thing Phil felt was a cold presence next to him.

Everything was blurry. He couldn't think straight. He couldn't think at all. His eyes were screwed shut as he lurched up, heart pounding out of his chest. He was hyperventilating.

The next thing he felt was a hand gently touch his arm. Ice cold. Not enough to snap him out of his thoughts.

"Phil?" His son's weak voice is what did it, broken as ever and laced with concern. Phil's attention whipped to its source, sweat dripping down his face.

Ghostbur was sat beside his bed. Phil almost didn't recognize him through his tears.

"Dad?" Ghostbur croaked, and Phil crumbled into Ghostbur's arms, giving him a hug tighter than any he'd ever given. Ghostbur couldn't feel it. But he hugged back anyway.

Phil clung to him, tears soaking into his bright yellow sweater. Ghostbur couldn't feel it. But he tried to comfort him anyway.

A mess of 'I'm sorry's and 'I'm so proud of you's escaped him as his son gently ran his fingers through his father's hair, like Phil used to do when Wilbur was young. Ghostbur couldn't feel it. But he continued anyway.

After what could've been decades, Ghostbur was able to get Phil back to bed. The spectral figure fidgeted with his blue to calm his own nerves, watching over Phil as he slept. He glanced to Friend when the sheep shifted around, fast asleep on the floor, and snuggled up against Ghostbur's leg. Ghostbur felt a gentle smile tug at his lips and leaned down to pet Friend, who pressed his head into Ghostbur's hand.

Ghostbur didn't remember why he was here.

But he stayed anyway.


End file.
